Cranes in Winter
by liriaen
Summary: The Shinsengumi have always held their own, winning against sickening odds. It's the enemies without swords that Toshizou and Souji must learn how to deal with. [slash]


**Title:** Cranes in Winter  
**Fandom:** Peacemaker Kurogane  
**Pairing:** Hijikata Toshizou/Okita Souji  
**Word Count:** 2200  
**Summary:** The Shinsengumi have always held their own, winning against sickening odds. It's the enemies without swords that Toshizou and Souji must learn to deal with.  
**A/N:** Written for Moshesque. Arigato, Kennahijja, for the wonderful beta. :)

* * *

** Cranes in Winter**

"Shhht!" Souji throws a nervous glance at the narrow opening between shoji panels. "You're not supposed to be here! We'll be in trouble if-" His eyes dart left and right before he fakes an exasperated sigh and folds back the sheets. "Oh, alright. But not a sound, you hear?"

He watches the wriggles and grunts underneath the blanket, waits until everything is settled, then gently curls around the lump. The room is chilly despite the brazier, and Souji can see his breath in the air. He's tired. He's cold. Who would begrudge him a little bit of extra warmth?

"Souuuu-"

Sweet merciful Buddha, it's To-

"-_jiiiii_!"

-shizou. Only Toshizou would do that, drawing the second syllable out into a grunt, towering in the draughty doorway like that, looking for all the world like a vengeful kami with a ten foot shadow come to frighten a dying man-

"You've got that pig in your bed again!" Two long strides and he's beside Souji's futon, thwapping the squealing pink blur that is Saizou. Souji makes a pleading, soothing noise, but the piglet's already out and about, knocking over a tea tray before it gallops down the verandah and disappears in the yard.

Toshizou instantaneously deflates. It's a bit like watching Susano'o the storm god after a good long fart, and Souji's discovered that the best way to weather these outbursts and their aftermath is by waggling his hands in the air, fingers splayed, and grinning a like a five-year-old. Souji's got it down to an art, although Tetsu is fast becoming a rival.

"You know that's unhygienic." Toshi slumps down by his side with a thud. "Susumu will be angry."

"Ah, but you don't have to tell him." Souji cocks his head with a vague smile as he observes Toshi. Such a big man, so helpless now. Wrong, Souji corrects himself; the Shinsengumi have always held their own, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, winning against sickening odds. It's the enemies without swords that Toshizou doesn't know how to deal with.

"Hijikata-san." If Toshi's specialty is the voice of terror, then Souji's is the lime trap. He allows the "san" to reverberate like a shamisen, a rich, pleading moan on the verge of a whine. Hands modestly folded in his lap, he bats his eyelashes and waits for a "humph" or any other non-committal grunt that will signal the end of _that_ particular conversation.

It comes later than usual, but it's followed by a nod and a quiet "Will you honour me by having tea with me tonight?" The question is remarkable even by Toshi's standards, although Souji has ample practice in making sense of his (mostly barked) non-sequiturs. An invitation to tea, then. Not the lukewarm brew they keep plying him with. Souji rights himself on his knees, straightening his rumpled yukata before he drops into a deep, formal bow.

There's no trace of coquetry as he whispers, "Hijikata-san."

* * *

The winter air renders everything in crisp, clear lines: the serene layout of the Temple yard, the tiny, formal garden with its brook of rocks and lingering patches of snow, the last light on the rooftops. Souji revels in it. How long hasn't he left his room, four days, five? Wrapping himself tighter into the quilted haori, he slips into his geta, careful not to trip over Saizou. The piglet is rooting outside his door again, and as he leaves, he nudges the round pink bum into his room. The sky looks like night frost, after all.

It's only a short walk down the narrow garden path, a step over the reed fence, but having been cooped up for the better part of a week he tires easily. Damn them for not letting him into the dojo. They mean well, but they might as well send him a white kimono, and brush and ink to compose his death poem.

As he bends to wash his hands and rinse his mouth, he notices the moon: a fat slab of orange on the rise, beautiful in the dusk.

Toshizou steps down from the walkway to the wood shed he's emptied for the evening and puts his hands on his knees. "Welcome," he says, and there's something in Toshizou's voice and manner that instantly puts Souji at ease: he can feel sorrow slip off his shoulders like a discarded gown.

"Thank you." He bows deeper than Toshi, suppressing a cough. "I am not late, I hope?"

"No, no... Not at all." Toshi seems uncertain for a moment, then holds out an arm. "Here, let me help you."

Grateful, Souji lowers his eyes. He leans into Toshizou and lets himself be ushered up the walk and through a low wooden door. Bless the Seven Lucky Gods it isn't quite as low as a real tea pavilion's - although it would be funny to watch Toshizou squeeze his bulk through there, like Mount Fuji crouching under a torii gate.

The room is humble, of course; no artful scrolls or ancient bowls to admire, but it's cosy. They'll make do. Toshi has set up two more braziers than are strictly needed, the lamps radiate warmth, and there's a pile of folded blankets and pillows stacked in a corner. Nice. Veeery nice. Especially the little lacquer plate with neatly arranged bean cakes, the green and pink ones from the shop in Shimabara, pushed thoughtfully close to his side of the small table, and-

Souji blushes. They don't allow him sweets, normally. And Shimabara is on the other side of town. "How long have you been planning this?" he asks, casually fingering the rim of the plate.

Toshizou concentrates on water and ladle. "Since this afternoon. Does it matter?"

Against all manners, Souji scrapes the glazing off a pink bean cake and noisily sucks it into his mouth. Toshizou smiles without looking up. "Ah, those. I told Tetsu better be quick about it, unless he wanted to polish the dojo floor."

"Hijikata-san." Souji lingers on the "san" again, reproachful this time. Nothing follows but an amused silence, and Souji's eyes are drawn to Toshi's hands; sword-calloused hands softened by their current task.

Hijikata Toshizou's haikus may be torture, but the man knows how to make tea.

* * *

Toshizou's kiss tastes of bitter green tea, sweetened by the tiny bite of cake Souji has pushed through his lips. His open hair smells of smoke, and Souji threads his fingers through it before he slips back down onto his knees and bows.

"Thank you," he says, in his best solemn tone. "I feel refreshed." He senses something creeping up, something that's tensing his spine and constricting his ribs, so he asks the Buddha Amida for five minutes, ten, to reach his rooms and be out of Toshi's hearing before the cough starts, but the Buddha must be busy tonight. Souji doesn't even make it to the door.

He's sick of the racking cough that tears him apart, he's sick unto death of it. With a frantic "Okita-san!", Toshizou slings an arm around his chest and steadies him. There's blood and phlegm in Souji's closed fist, and he groans in defeat when he sees some of it on Toshi's sleeve.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "Sorry for being so weak. Respectless. In a tea pavilion, of all places."

Toshizou drags him over to a brazier. "Idiot," he growls, supporting Souji with one hand, setting fresh water with the other. "It's just a wood shed."

Wearily, Souji acknowledges that Toshi brought the other tea, too, the horrible stuff, not just koi-cha and usu-cha. The vile broth makes him shudder but he gulps it down; it'll help against the cough, if nothing else, and the pain finally subsides into a dull, familiar ache.

Frowning, Toshizou takes the bowl from him and cleans it with a piece of silk. "You should stay here for the night. It's probably the warmest place on the grounds right now." He turns away for a moment as if the suggestion were improper, but when he glances back at Souji - who lets go of a triple bean cake pile like a piece of hot coal - he roars, "Okita Soujirou!"

Souji's cheeks start to burn. It must look ghastly, next to his pallor. "Just a nibble to get rid of the taste? Please?" he begs feebly, fidgeting. Toshi looms like rain clouds again before he sweeps Souji into a bearlike embrace.

There are other ways to get rid of the taste, and Souji needs to remind himself to come up for air lest their kisses set off another fit. "You'll be the death of me," Toshi murmurs behind his ear, which only incites Souji to crawl higher onto his lap. Normally he'd giggle, but he doesn't feel like giggling now. "Don't," he says, index finger on Toshi's lips, "don't joke about it."

Toshizou is right – the room is warm indeed, and the quilts make a more than decent bedding. Listening to the hiss of dying embers, Souji burrows deep into Toshi's arms. He nods off for an hour or two, and maybe there's some drooling involved, though that's hardly an excuse for waking him with a gruff "What do you think you're doing?"

"Doing, I?" He feels Toshi's chin sharp on his shoulder and catches a glimpse of that fabulous glower, the hungry one with the soft edges.

"You're. You're moving." Toshizou chides, but Souji can hear him swallow. Hard.

Snuggling even closer, Souji mutters a half-hearted, "Oh. You're right. Don't know what I was thinking," and then he's at it again. His body must be desperate, he thinks, that'll be it. It doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to want to die.

Eyes wide in the gathering darkness, he resumes rubbing his lower back against Toshi, using Toshi's arms for leverage. Souji's moans sound wanton even to himself, but they help him achieve his goal: soon he pulls up one leg in invitation.

It always hurts at first, always, and Toshizou's attempts at going easy usually make it worse. Still, Toshi fumbles all over the tea table for something, anything to ease his way in before they resort to spit and water. It's done before, it'll do now, especially with Souji growing desperate. He knows what he can handle; after all it's not like Yoshida breaking his ribs.

Which doesn't mean he's unappreciative of Toshizou's efforts. Souji loves him for every hesitant pause, every questioning breath. He answers by canting his leg, by a tilt of his hips - thin, fragile, willowy Souji, translucent like bone china. And then he smiles in the dark and bites Toshi's wrist and pushes back and lets his pelvis snap and growls "harder" and "faster" like the hellcat he is.

* * *

"Sensei! Sensei!" Tetsu's voice approaches and disappears, undulating across the yard. It must have snowed over night; the wet patter of Tetsu's straw shoes tells them as much. Half awake, Toshizou peels the blankets off and peers into the light filtering in through the slats. Crooking a finger under Souji's jaw to tickle faint stubble, he whispers "Okita-san", but Souji squeezes his eyes shut. He can't keep his chin from seeking and butting Toshizou's hand, though.

"Hijikata-san", he complains and tries to get Toshi to pet him, "I think I broke something last night." To illustrate his point he pulls off a mute show that earns him glares rather than sympathy, so he simply flops back into the tangled sheets and grins.

They hear Tetsu again, closer this time and clumsy as usual, yelling "Sensei!" as if his life depended on it.

"Shhh. Here," Toshizou pokes his head out the door. "Go ahead and wake everybody, why don't you?"

Knees first, Tetsu lets himself drop into the snow, bowing like a worry doll. "It's Okita-san, sensei, I wanted to bring him his tea and he's... he's-"

"I'm here, Tetsu." Souji cuts in from underneath Toshizou's elbow, beaming. "And that's very kind of you. Tea, I mean. Would you mind making a fresh cup for the vice-commander as well?"

The boy beams back and nods, then zooms across the yard.

"Very smart, Souji." Grumbling, Toshizou shoos Souji back into the shed. "Give the little runt something to wag his tongue about. In case you've forgotten, he's my squire, not yours."

"He's a good kid, Toshi." Suddenly Souji feels exhausted before he's even properly risen. "Tetsu will never be this weak, you know," he says quietly while Toshi props him up against the pillows.

"Nonsense," Toshi replies.

They share the tea in silence, and then, thanks be to Kannon Bosatsu for providence, Souji has a feeling he knows where this is going, with Toshizou all bashful and clearing his throat a lot, because in a second or two he'll ask if it's alright to sit with Souji and read him some of his haikus but so sorry, Souji's already asleep again...

Although the snore is probably overdoing it a bit.

* * *


End file.
